


One Last Party

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: For this fic, I went with the Queen party prompt, as I wanted a chance to get some Freddie and Tim interactions written. This was one of the first fics I wrote for Tim Weekend, and it’s dear to my heart. I hope folks will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!The only major TW for this is that there is the implication of Freddie’s illness in this; it isn’t addressed directly or anything, and Tim doesn’t know of course, but he’s aware that Freddie seems a bit out of it compared to prior years.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury & Tim Staffell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Tim Staffell Appreciation Weekend 2021





	One Last Party

He doesn’t want to bother him. That above all is foremost in his mind. Freddie is an old friend, yes, but they’ve long-since fallen out of touch with each other. 

And he looks tired. 

There’s been nothing formally said as to how well or unwell any member of Queen might be, but the papers are intrusive and eager to suggest theories based on the smallest, stupidest detail. It doesn’t help that, in Tim’s experience, musicians are often horrid gossips (and he can admit that he has to include himself in that, at least sometimes.) 

He doesn’t want to make any assumptions of course, but regardless, there’s the worry that he’d only irritate Freddie if he should be feeling less-than or otherwise exhausted from the party. 

Tim has spent the party milling at the edges of crowds, talking to folks if the mood takes him. He can keep to that, happily.

Or he tries to, until a rotation around the main room of the club lands him at Freddie’s table, in a seat right beside him. 

He says nothing, sitting awkwardly to the side in the chair. Even here, the goal is to let Freddie be; let him enjoy the night. 

But Freddie turns, and his face lights up. 

“There you are! Brian and Roger said you might try and make it, but we haven’t seen you all night so we presumed the worst,” Freddie leans in so they can hear each other over the dull roar of the party-goers. 

“Dead?” 

Freddie laughs. “That you couldn’t make it. But dead would do that as well, I suppose.” 

“I’ve been here,” Tim shrugs, and tries to hide his discomfort. Why is he here? Even the people among the crowds that he knows seemed shocked he showed up. 

“I’m glad you made it,” Freddie says. “And I’m glad you made it to one of us, at least! I haven’t seen the others in a bit, but-” 

Freddie peers into the crowd in front of them, as if he might somehow see through them. But if Roger, Brian, or John are anywhere close, they aren’t within sight. 

He shakes his head. “Well. They’re off doing who knows what, who knows where. But you and I can still catch up.” 

“There’s not much for me to catch you up on,” Tim tries to laugh, to keep it lighter than how he feels. 

Freddie rolls his eyes and smiles. “If you mean in regards to your attitude, then no, there isn’t. Still self-deprecating to a fault. But if you can honestly tell me that nothing else has changed; that you’re still stuck in that dingy student flat, then we’ll leave right now and I’ll move you into someplace nicer myself!” 

There’s a glimmer of their conversations in their college days in that, and Tim lets some of the stress out of his shoulders. Freddie never did suffer fools; he’s still talking to him, so he must truly want to hear him. 

“I’ve upgraded,” Tim chuckles. “A dingy house, but it suits me and the family.” 

“Wife and kids?” 

Tim nods. “And a day job, all that. It’s horribly boring, I’m afraid. You?” 

“I doubt that,” Freddie replies, artfully dodging over Tim’s question about family. He catches a waiter walking by with a gentle touch to the elbow. “It’s rather too loud in here; is there anywhere else my friend and I-” 

Before Freddie can finish his sentence, the waiter is gesturing them up and down a set of hallways, babbling about an empty VIP space. 

The room is cozy, it could fit maybe ten people if that, Tim figures. It looks VIP as well; velvet couches and low tables and a few chairs sat far too close together. But it is much quieter, and that’s a blessing. 

“Gets overwhelming,” Freddie remarks as they sit on one of the couches, watching the waiter leave. “Doesn’t it?” 

“To me, maybe,” Tim says. “I’m not a pro at things like this like you and the other lads are.” 

Freddie snorts. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know how to handle it. Besides, being a pro at these means nothing. Less than nothing. Can you hold a drink and ramble on to some executive you’d rather not be talking to? If you can do that, you can handle a night like this.” 

“Fair enough,” Tim nods. “Still, you’ve all got more experience even with that than I-” 

“All I know right now,” Freddie interrupts softly. “Is that I’m hearing a friend talk poorly of himself for no good reason. And that’s not the conversation we should be having. How have you been? What have you kept busy with?” 

Tim hesitates to reply, but Freddie nods to urge him on. “I’m married. I already said that, but...yeah. She’s lovely, if anything, I should say I’m luckily married!” 

“We’ve all ended up with people too good for us, haven’t we?” Freddie smiles. 

“Sounds about right,” Tim lets himself sit back, and breathe. “Especially with...everything. It’s been lovely overall though; I really shouldn’t complain.” 

“Do,” Freddie instructs. “You have my permission, if it helps. We can bitch and whine to each other about things, like we used to. Just not about professors and classes anymore, is all.” 

“I might have some complaints left in me about some of them,” Tim smiles, and it’s a delight to hear Freddie laugh. He’d made this harder than it was. “No, no...ah, but like I said. Got the dear wife at home, some kids. I’ve done a lot since we last talked for any length of time, odd jobs-” 

“And music?” Freddie looks eager to hear about that. 

“Um. For fun, yeah,” Tim mumbles. “I considered myself ‘retired’, if you will, back in 1978. It’s been all TV and films and models and special effects since then.” 

Freddie frowns, but nods. “Well, I’m sure whatever you’re doing ‘for fun’ is still fantastic. And I’d love to know what you’ve worked on otherwise, maybe I’ve seen it…” 

He lets himself get into a flow with it, but then talking about work is easy. Freddie might not understand all the shop talk, but he listens intently, and grins whenever a project comes up that he knows of. 

But the topic only has so long a life, and it drops sooner rather than later. For a few moments, silence drifts over them. 

“What about you?” Tim tries again, gently. “I admit, I’ve not kept up close on everything Queen has done, so anything you say is likely new to me! And what about, you know, family and all that…” 

Freddie doesn’t look upset. But he’s studying Tim with a very certain look. Careful and serious, his eyes fixed on Tim’s. 

“To go over everything we’ve done,” he laughs softly. “That’s a lot, I suppose. I’m proud of it all, let’s say that. Even though we’ve bickered over so much of it, my god, if you could have heard us.” 

“I’d have rolled my eyes and tried to break it up?” 

“Probably,” Freddie replies with a faltering smile. “I...look. Anything more we talk about…” 

He sighs. “Privacy is important, yes?” 

Tim nods. “If you’re meaning that you don’t want anything about your life sold to any papers, you don’t need to worry about that. I wouldn’t use them as rags to clean up a mess, much less read them or give them any information about anyone.” 

Freddie perks up at that. “That’s a relief. It isn’t that I don’t trust you, or anyone-” 

“But you do have to be careful, and that means you can’t really trust anyone,” Tim interrupts without meaning to, the words flowing before he can stop them. “Or at least, you can only trust them so far.” 

Freddie nods. “You get it. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Tim says. “I wouldn’t want anyone knowing my business if I didn’t intend for them to hear it.” 

“Exactly,” Freddie says. “That said…” 

The smile is back, bright. “His name is Jim. I’m lucky beyond words to have him; I can’t begin to tell you. Not that it’s all sunshine, I mean, what relationship is, but compared to what I’ve had before…” 

“Night and day?” 

Freddie nods. “Ah. No kids, of course, unless you count the cats-” 

“I absolutely do,” Tim laughs. “We’ve had our share of pets over the years; I’m certain the wife and kids would get them out of the house during a fire before they’d drag me out!” 

“Stop that,” Freddie giggles and shoves at his arm. “They’d get you out; the real question is if you’d be like Brian and John and Roger and be running back in to save equipment and instruments.” 

Tim considers it for a moment. “I have to admit it, I might. Some of what I’ve got in the home workshop is expensive, you know. Not as irreplaceable as Brian’s guitar or anything-” 

Freddie interrupts him with a laugh. “Nothing is as irreplaceable as that. It truly is, but all the same-” 

“Brian,” they say it in one playfully disparaging voice, cracking up at the coincidence. 

“You know,” Tim sighs. “I was trying to avoid you, if I’m honest. Not out of not wanting to talk to you! But I was so afraid I’d be bothering you or wearing you out or something; that was silly of me, wasn’t it?” 

Freddie nods. “It was, but I get it. I’m not exactly charging for the spotlight myself on nights like this. People come up to me, and I’m fine to speak with most of them. Happy, even! But I’m better here, sitting back and doing something like this instead.” 

He tuts, and shakes his head. “Maybe I’m just getting old, hm?” 

“Aren’t we all,” Tim replies. “This has been lovely though. I don’t know how much longer I can stay, but if you’d like…” 

He hesitates. Maybe this is a step too far. One night of catching up, even with Freddie telling him things so personal, cannot make up for years of not having talked at all. “I’d love to meet up with you again, outside of a party, if you’re comfortable with it. We could have you and Jim over for lunch, maybe.” 

Freddie’s smile is soft, but his eyes are bright, and he seems the most genuinely happy Tim has seen him all night. At least, it reminds him of the Freddie met in college. 

“I don’t know what our schedule is like going forward,” Freddie replies. “Myself and the band, and myself and Jim, of course. But I’d like that. Let me get you my number…” 

They exchange numbers scribbled on cocktail napkins, and Tim has to bite back a laugh. Friends going back as far as college, exchanging numbers like two people in a bar not quite brave enough to just take each other home instead. 

But he thinks as Freddie helps him find the exit (“It’s a maze back here, I swear; we can’t have you getting lost!”) that he’s not been so happy at a party like that before. He had a good time; only when he was with Freddie, but still, he had a truly good time. 

The cocktail napkin is warm in his hand as he takes it out of his pocket and pins it onto the little notice board at home. Among the calendars and appointment reminder cards and everything else for the rest of the family, is something for him. 

A friend, and as he readies for bed, Tim finds himself already excited for their half-planned lunch. 


End file.
